O sacred Head, now wounded, With grief and shame weighed down; Now scornfully surrounded With thorns, thine only crown; O sacred Head, what glory, What bliss till now was thine! Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call thee mine. What thou, my Lord, hast suffered...
Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended, That man to judge thee hath in hate pretended? By foes derided, by thine own rejected, O most afflicted. Who was the guilty? who brought this upon thee? Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee. ‘Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it...
